


Don't Say It

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Depression, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Reunions, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 09:14:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John leaves Sherlock. Sherlock falls apart. (Happy Ending)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Say It

           “No.”

           Sherlock swallows, trying to force the knot in his throat into submission. “No?”

           John won’t meet his eye, focusing instead on the collar of Sherlock’s shirt.

           “John…” the baritone voice is hoarse, pleading.

           “I’m sorry.” Sherlock can see the clench in his jaw, the twitch of his left hand. He knows John wants to stay, to take back his words and return to life before the fall.

           “You’re…sorry?” Sherlock tries to let out a skeptical laugh, but the knot chokes the sarcasm from his words.

           John takes a moment, composing his facial features into military indifference again. “I thought, for three years, that I didn’t do enough to save you. That I wasn’t _enough_ for you to believe life was worth living. And now you’re back.” His voice breaks, and he presses a clenched hand to his lips. He shakes his head a little before continuing. “And now you’re back, and you want to pretend everything’s all right. But it’s not. It’s…not all right, Sherlock. This isn’t healthy. I can’t…I can’t do this anymore.”

           For the first time in almost twenty years, Sherlock’s stutter comes back. “D-do what?”

           John stares at Sherlock’s hairline. “I can’t be around you. I can’t be your keeper anymore.”

           “My f-f-friend?”

           John shakes his head. “I…I think it was better when I thought you were…dead.”

           Sherlock can’t breathe. John looks down at his feet for a moment, then turns his back and begins to walk away.

           He pauses and looks back at Sherlock. “Goodb—”

           “D-don’t!” Sherlock whispers, “d-don’t say it.”

           John nods.

           The door closes behind him as Sherlock falls to his knees.

 

           The shower pounds boiling water over Sherlock’s raw body.

           The punch. The kiss. The whispered “I love you.”

           He pushes his palms into his eyes, trying to press the memory from the brain that would never, _could_ never forget anything involving John. He can’t move the clutter, the specific weave pattern of John’s favorite jumper, the black coffee without sugar John drank, the tune John hummed in idle hours, the thread count on John’s sheets, the—

           Sherlock punches the mirror, shattering it and sending glass shards into the sink. He looks down at his bleeding hand, trying to remember getting out of the shower.

 

           “Smoke?”

           “No, thanks.”

           Sherlock tosses the pack on the floor and leans back against the pillows, inhaling the chemicals.

           “Sherlock.”

           “Mm?”

           Victor props himself up on his elbow and fingers the edge of the sheet. “I know you, Sherlock.”

           “Do you?” Sherlock ponders, exhaling smoke and watching it roll in the air. “Fascinating.”

           “Bastard,” Victor laughs. He runs a hand through the golden red waves of his hair. “But seriously, Sherlock. I _know_ you. And it wasn’t me you were thinking about, was it?”

           Sherlock keeps his eyes on the ceiling, trying to tamp down the pain in his chest.

           “It was him.”

           “Victor.”

           “It was J—”

           “Don’t say it!” Sherlock shouts, slamming his gasper into the ashtray. “Don’t say it,” he pleads, covering his eyes with his hand. “I’m disassociating, Victor. I just…lose time. I don’t even remember coming here.”

           “Sherlock…”

           Sherlock throws the ashtray at the opposite wall, watching it shatter into a cloud of ash and broken glass as he shouts, “Do you _know_ what this is like for me? My brain, the _one thing_ I can trust, is betraying me!”

           “Sherlock…”

           He covers his face with shaking hands. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. I shouldn’t—I _can’t_ live with him, but…”

           “But you can’t live without him, either.”

           Sherlock nods, keeping his face covered.

 

           Sherlock froze where he stood.

           His heart pounds, trying to break through the cage of bone and muscle, just to fall at the feet of the man who stood in front of him.

           “John.”

           “Sherlock.”

           “You’re…why are you here?”

           John looks down at his hand resting on the back of the red armchair.

           “John?”

           “It’s not healthy,” John says suddenly, a burst of syllables held back for too long.

           “Excuse me?” Sherlock shrugs off his coat and hangs it on the rack, attempting to look calm and casual as his insides trembled to bits.

           “It’s not been healthy. Our relationship. Not since you came back.”

           John looks up at Sherlock, who was at a loss for words.

           “I didn’t forgive you. I didn’t understand. And then…then you were so _controlling_ and possessive and I didn’t understand that either. You only noticed me half the time, completely ignoring me when a case came up, or…”

           “John.”

           John stops talking as Sherlock takes a step closer.

           “John, I can only _ever_ see you. Nothing else. You’re a distraction, a hazard. I can’t focus on cases as well if you’re there. I can’t think properly. I ignored you because…well…”

           “Because?”

           Sherlock looks down at his shoes. “Because I was worried I might have suffocated you. And I would have. I _still_ would. I would _consume_ you, John. If I were not a rational man, you would be mine and mine alone. If my instincts had their way, every breath you take, I would share it. I would latch onto you so tightly you could never leave. You wouldn’t have a moment’s peace. So that…that’s why I ignored you.”

           John stares until Sherlock meets his gaze again. He taps a finger on Sherlock’s lapel, right above his heart. “That,” he sighs, “that would not be healthy.”

           A few tears stick Sherlock’s eyelashes together. “You were right to leave,” he whispered.

           “No.”

           Sherlock looks up. “What?”

           “No. It wasn’t right.”

           Sherlock stared, taken aback.

           “It was Sarah, actually. I told her all about it right after I left. We were at lunch. And when I told her…” he breaks off to half-chuckle, half-sob, “w-when I told her what I did, she dumped her glass of water on my head.”

           John’s eyelashes begin sticking together too. He smiles weakly at Sherlock.

           “She said it was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”

           “H-how…what…what made her think that?”

           “She said she had never seen two people more in love than you and I. I’m so sorry. I was selfish and insecure and I didn’t communicate. Our relationship wasn’t healthy. We were both reluctant to love each other. I think I was still in shock from your return. I didn’t understand then, but I think I do now. And I want to start over. I love you, Sherlock. I want to be with you.”

           John is holding Sherlock’s hands, palm to palm between their torsos. Sherlock begins shaking his head. “John, I would _consume_ you. I…”

           “No, you won’t. I know you, Sherlock. I’ve seen you at your worst, and I’ve seen you at your best. There is _nothing_ you could do that I wouldn’t be able to handle.”

           “I’m…”

           “What?”

           “I’m afraid, John. I am afraid to love you.” A tear splashes on their hands.

           John hesitates, then reaches up and puts a hand on Sherlock’s cheek. “Why are you afraid?” Sherlock does not meet his eyes.

           “Because I don’t want to lose you. You…y-you were my best, most valued friend. The first person I truly loved. I need you, it _scares_ me how much I need you in my life.”

           John nods and drops his hand. Sherlock feels a heavy, sick feeling in his stomach immediately.

           “John, I—”

           John grabs Sherlock by the neck and pulls Sherlock down to cut off his words with a kiss.

           “John,” Sherlock whispers when they break apart.

           John holds Sherlock’s face in his hands. “If this is going to work, Sherlock, you have to tell me what you need, what you’re thinking. The same goes for me. There will be nothing but honesty between us. We can do this.”

           “Promise me something.”

           “Anything, love.”

           “You’ll tell me when I get to be…too much.”

           John chuckles a little. “As long as you don’t fake your own death again, I won’t have to say anything.”

           “And you really do love me?”

           “Yes. I really do.”


End file.
